


Sundays

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-16 23:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin





	Sundays

For twelve years, Remus Lupin's life was fairly routine.  
  
He had jobs, provided he could hold them. Tea. Books. Beans on toast.   
  
All of these things were generally sufficient for Remus to keep going with what he accepted as his lot in life. It was hard to be happy when everywhere he looked in his flat, he saw James, Lily and Peter waving back at him, happily unaware of what Remus had allowed to happen to them.   
  
He didn't keep any pictures of Sirius.   
  
The owl came on a Sunday, when Remus was in the middle of enjoying a yellowed paperback and a cup of Earl Gray. He hadn't had much meaningful social contact with other wizards in ages, so it took him a moment to register what was going on.   
  
The bird looked at him expectantly and held out its leg. Remus recognized the handwriting on the envelope before he'd even gotten the letter untied.  
  
"I suppose you've been told to wait for my reply," he said to it. The owl cocked its head and Remus nudged his plate over. It helped itself to some of his beans.   
  
The owl bearing the _Daily Prophet_ arrived five minutes after Remus had finished reading Dumbledore's letter and he knew why he had been sent it as soon as he saw who was glaring out at him from the front page.   
  
All this seemed very distant while he was at Hogwarts. He had always regarded the castle as his true home, and he especially liked Sunday breakfasts, where he could watch the students from the staff table and pretend just for a moment that things had worked out differently. That illusion always ended, though, as did the term of peaceful Sundays, when once again, he lost himself under the light of the full moon.  
  
His first full moon after he left the teaching job—the best job he'd ever had, could ever hope to have—was a Saturday, and he woke up in the cellar of his shabby little house, newly-resettled bones protesting even the slightest movement.  
  
"Don't tell me you did it here, all these years?"  
  
The voice sent a chill racing down Remus's spine. He had to be hallucinating. It was the lingering effects of the transformation, it had to be.   
  
He sensed movement and someone crouched down beside him. "I meant to get here last night," said the voice. "But there were Aurors, all around the village. I guess I can't really stay here, can I?"   
  
With great effort, Remus turned his head. His vision blurred with tears of pain and gratitude. Sirius stroked his hair, brushed his thumb over Remus's chapped lips.   
  
"How do you feel about adopting a pet dog, though?"


End file.
